


Things Get Tricky When Kids Are Involved

by augopher



Series: The Things We Make, We Make With Love [6]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Arguing, Bullying, Established Relationship, F/M, Family Feels, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Fic, M/M, Rated For Violence, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Stiles does crafts, gender variant character, name calling and -phobic language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-04 03:43:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2908079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/augopher/pseuds/augopher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It started with trouble in school, Stephen struggling in first grade, and Derek was at a loss for why. His son didn't disclose what the problem was, and well keeping problems a secret will only make them worse. Now that Derek finally had the nerve to ask talk to Stiles about moving in...the ripple effect of secrets had the potential to destroy everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. There Should Be a Manual For This

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: This part in the series deals heavily with Stephen's bully problem, and chapter 4 is told entirely from Stephen's POV. If graphic depictions of bullying are a possible trigger for you, the chapter CAN BE skipped, and the events inferred from the following chapter.
> 
> Please don't post my work Goodreads

Derek sat at his kitchen table, nose buried in his laptop, files scattered around him. Working from home on occasion was nice, especially on days he didn’t feel his best. Today, however, he’d woken up with a skull splitting headache. So needless to say, his proposal for the big Christmas business push didn’t get very far.

He rubbed his temples, while subsequently using the rest of his fingers to massage his scalp. If only it was two hours earlier, he’d take a nap and mark down two hours of paid time off. As it stood, Stephen was due home from school any minute. So the nap was out of the question.

About fifteen minutes later, he thought he heard the front door close, and waited for Stephen to say hi, but no words came. For a minute, Derek thought he’d imagined it until he heard the shower start upstairs. _What in the hell?_

He climbed the stairs and tried the door knob only to find it locked, which was not allowed. His knuckles wrapped on the door. “Hey Buddy, are you okay? The door’s locked. You know we don’t lock doors in this house.”

From inside he heard Stephen’s water muffled voice. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

“That’s okay. Why are you taking a shower so early?”

“In PE today, we ran a lot, and I’m all sweaty.”

Satisfied with his son’s answer, Derek went downstairs to pack up his work computer and files. He’d put in eight hours, even if they weren’t productive hours. Once everything for work had been stowed, he cut up a couple apples and dished out a little cup of peanut butter for them both. As he poured two small glasses of milk, he heard Stephen come up behind him, his face devoid of its usual smile.

“Hey Daddy?” Stephen asked, his arms holding onto the little laundry basket from his room. It was empty

“What is it?”

“I want to learn how to wash my clothes. Can you show me?”

Derek smiled. “Do you want that to be part of your chores?”

“I don’t know. Maybe if I do a good job.”

“Oh, I think you’ll do just fine. Come on.” To Derek’s surprise, Stephen had already parked his stool from the downstairs bathroom in front of the machine. Not only that, he’d put his clothes in the washer. “Did you take out the white clothes?”

“Uh huh. They are upstairs. I only had two shirts in there.”

Derek patted the space next to him. “Step on up. I’ll be right back.” He walked into his office and returned with a Sharpie. As he removed the cap, he saw Stephen flinch. “Everything okay?”

“I don’t like those markers. They are messy.”

“Well don’t worry. It won’t get anywhere near your clothes. See?” He grabbed the measuring cap for the detergent and drew a little black line on it. “You only put this much soap in the cup okay? Show me.”

Stephen nodded, squeezing the button on the dispenser until the detergent met the line.

“Now, I wash all our colorful clothes on cold.” The washing machine lid made a clang as he closed it. “Can you reach the dials back here?” He waited for Stephen to stretch across the machine. “Good.” Then he made a little black dot by the correct settings on the load size, temperature, and wash type dials. “I marked where you want to turn the knob. Got it?”

“Yep. And then what?”

“You pull this big knob here towards you. Try it.”

Stephen giggled when water started to fill the machine. “What about the other stuff you put in the clothes?”

Derek took the scoop from the colorsafe bleach and made a similar line on it. “Fill it to the line and dump it in. Go ahead.” Stephen’s tongue stuck out while he concentrated on not filling the blue scoop too full. Though it was nice to see his son becoming independent, Derek had to admit that it made him a little sad to see him growing up so fast.

“Is that all?”

“Yep. When they are done washing, I will show you how to figure out what clothes to dry and how to work the dryer. Okay?”

Stephen climbed down from his stool and stowed it back in the bathroom.

“Do you want to have a snack with me?” Derek asked.

“I’m not really hungry, Daddy. I have a lot of homework.” He said as he turned to go back up to his room.

Derek stopped him before he could leave. “How was your day at school?” He suspected Stephen was finding the longer school day tiring now that he was in first grade. Two hours longer shouldn’t seem like much, but he imagined that, to a small child, it had to feel like forever. Especially when they didn’t get naps anymore. Three weeks into the school year, and Stephen had seemed to come home drained every day.

Stephen shrugged. “It was okay. I guess.”

“What did you do?”

“We played kickball in PE. Um, we played the coin game.”

Derek led him to the kitchen table and passed him the glass of milk. “What’s the coin game?”

“You have to make the number on the card with your coins.” Stephen took a drink.

“How’d you do?”

“I already know how to count money, Daddy, duh. Remember, I get chore money. I did fine.”

He chuckled. “I forget sometimes just how much stuff you know. Anything else?”

“We did reading. I have to write sentences with my words for homework.” Stephen said, staring down at the table.

“What book is it this week?”

“The True Story of the Three Little Pigs.”

Sensing, just by his tone, that his son didn’t really feel like talking about school, he changed tactics. “How about friends? I know you are sad Amy is not in your class this year and doesn’t have lunch with you. Making any new friends?”

“I guess so.” He hopped up from the table. “Gonna go do my homework.”

The sounds of little feet climbing the stairs echoed through the living room, and Derek set to work preparing dinner and doing minor housework.

 

*   *   *   *   *

 

An hour later, Stephen came back downstairs. “Daddy, what’s for dinner?”

“I made baked mac n’ cheese with bacon.”

“Is Stiles coming for dinner?”

“No, he has class until nine tonight.” Derek dished up a scoop of pasta for Stephen plus some peas and cooked carrots . “Apple juice?”

“Yeah I guess.”

Derek sat down in his normal seat at the head of the table. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about Stiles.” Even though he came to the decision he would like Stiles to move in almost two months ago, it was a delicate situation. He spent countless hours doing research about blending families and the effect of cohabitation on children. To be honest, what he found discouraged him. So, it had taken him two months to decide to talk to Stephen about it.

Stephen pushed his vegetables around the plate. “What about?”

“Well, when he stays over, what do you think about that?”

He shrugged. “I like Stiles. He makes good pancakes, and when he reads me bedtime stories, he does different voices. I mean...you read stories good too, but he does voices!”

Derek smiled. “Yeah he does, but I mean does it bother you that he spends the night?” God, he should have had this discussion months ago. Why the hell did it take him eight months? _Derek, you are an idiot._

“No. I know what you’re doing when he sleeps over.”

Derek paled, and then felt his face flame. “Um… you do?”

“Yeah, you watch those movies you say I’m too young for like…Terminator and Dredd. Then there’s the kissing. Always kissing. So gross. And you probably stay up late in your room watching the news. Grown-ups are boring.”

An overwhelming sense of relief washed over him. “So...if Stiles stayed over more often, you’d be okay?”

Stephen rolled his eyes, and with a mouthful of macaroni, sassed his father, “Duh Daddy, he already does that like every other day.”

“Don’t talk with your mouthful, Buddy. And yes, I know he sleeps over a lot. I wanted to know how you felt about that?”

Stephen slumped his shoulders. “I like it when he’s here. We have lots of fun when Stiles spends the night. We play games. Don’t forget the giant fort we made in the living room. That was awesome! Do you remember the couch cushion bridge over the lava? You fell in, Daddy, but Stiles saved you, because he was Batman.”

Derek put his empty plate in the dishwasher. “And what if...he was here all the time, every night, would you be okay that too?”

Stephen stared at him. “You mean like he would live here?”

Derek nodded.

“Is he going to live with us?”

Stephen’s eyes looked so hopeful, and damn Derek should have discussed this with Stiles first. Why was there no instruction manual for any of this? “Well, I want him to, but I have to ask him. I wanted to talk to you first.”

“Do it, Daddy. But no kissing!”

Derek chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind, Buddy.”


	2. Not Intended for Use On Skin

A few weeks later, Derek sat in the living room waiting for Stephen to come home from school. To be honest, he still was not keen on the idea of him taking the bus, but he’d heard nothing from his son about any trouble with the older kids, so he figured everything had to be going fine.

When he heard the door open, he looked over his shoulder. Stephen held his backpack tightly in front of his body. “Hi Buddy, how was school?”

“It was okay. I fell down in PE and got all dirty. I’m going to go take a shower.” He didn’t elaborate further, just dropped his backpack on the ground and hurried upstairs.

The whole exchange had been rather odd. The way he clutched the bag to his chest, the way he couldn’t meet Derek’s eyes, and the way he rushed out of the room had Derek a little concerned.

He waited until the bathroom door to shut, and opened Stephen’s backpack. Like he expected, he found some assignments returned. Every other Friday, his teacher would send home a folder with all their graded papers from the two weeks before. Parents were required to sign that they’d received it.

As he reviewed his son’s work, he found more than one failed test and several assignments with poor grades. That was unusual for Stephen. His son, naturally bright, seemed to excel at school, but maybe, Derek thought, first grade was moving too fast. Stephen had asked for Derek’s help less. Well, he’d have to go back to looking over the homework. It did give him hope though, because his son had completed all the assignments. So there was that.

“Stevie, Stevie, Stevie...why wouldn’t you tell me you were struggling?” Derek set the backpack on the kitchen table. They could talk about it after dinner.

Assuming Stephen had been upset about his assignment folder, Derek didn’t bother to look through the rest of his bag. If he had, he’d have seen a broken headband, one of Stephen’s favorites and more than a few nasty notes and drawings from Joey Franklin and several of his friends.

 

*   *   *   *   *

 

Upstairs, Stephen had turned on the water to block the sound of him crying. Once he’d shed his cardigan, he peeled away his pink shirt, the front covered in mud from where he’d been pushed down during recess. He tossed it to the floor and lifted his undershirt, afraid of what he’d see underneath.

His fingers shook as they traced the words scrawled across his chest. Glaring black and red inked words stared back at him. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hands. This time, Joey and his friends had pushed so hard as they wrote them. It hurt.

He climbed under the water and took the washcloth to his skin, scrubbing as hard as he could, even though he knew he’d have to see them lingering there for a couple days until Monday. Oh no, Monday. They’d probably just write more of them. This hadn’t been the first time.

Why didn’t he just show the teacher the first time they did it? The first time they held him down and used those markers on him, he should have said something just like Mr. Slinski said. Always tell a teacher, keep telling the teacher. Well he’d been doing that. It never did any good. No one helped him. And besides, he was ashamed, and he didn’t want anyone to see what they wrote and start calling him those awful names.

Now that he knew what the words meant, that would be so much worse.

When he’d managed to wash off as much of the words as he could, he sat down and curled his knees to his chest, making himself as small as he could, and he cried his eyes out.

 

*   *   *   *   *

 

At dinner, Derek broached the subject of Stephen’s grades. “Hey Buddy, I need to talk to you about your folder.”

Stephen paled. “I don’t want to talk about that. Please, can we just do that tomorrow?”

He set down his napkin. “I’d rather we talked about it now. I can see you’re doing the homework, so I know it’s not that you’re slacking off. What is it? I’m not mad, especially if you’re struggling because it’s too hard. I want you to do well. Do you need me to help do your homework with you?”

Stephen pushed his plate away in frustration. “It’s not too hard. It’s easy.”

“Talk to me, Stevie. What’s going on?”

He slammed down his fork. “Nothing! Just leave me alone!” He ran upstairs before Derek could get another word in edgewise.

When Derek tried to knock on his door, after giving him ten minutes to cool down, he was met with “Go away! I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

Derek sat on the couch at a loss. Maybe, he’d just check over Stephen’s homework after he went to bed each night, and they could talk about it over breakfast. He could meet with is teacher, and crap, parent-teacher conferences were on Wednesday. Well, he could talk to her then.

 

 


	3. Parent Teacher Conference and a Self-Portrait

Derek sat in the uncomfortable plastic chair, one he felt certain would break under his weight at any moment as he stared across the student table at Ms. Coleman, Stephen’s teacher. How the hell did his son sit on one of these things for eight hours? He’d been on it for five minutes and his ass already hurt.

“So Mr. Hale, as I’m sure you’re aware, Stephen is struggling with his schoolwork.”

“I tried talking to him about it last week. It didn’t go well. I don’t understand, actually. He did so well last year, and he even said the school work was easy. Why would he be struggling?”

“There could be many reasons. I checked with his teacher last year, and his reading skills were exceptional. He reads easily at a few grade levels ahead of first grade expectations. That would make dyslexia unlikely. He seems to do well at math and other subjects in class. But come test time, he seems to fall apart. This could be a case of test anxiety or something worse. I hate to ask, but what is his home life like? Any major changes? I know you’re a single parent. Is that a recent thing?”

Derek shook his head. “Stephen’s mother left soon after he was born. I’ve been seeing someone for almost a year now, but the two of them get along great, and he had no struggles with it last year. It all seems to be starting this school year. Is he making friends in his new class? He won’t talk to me about it.”

“He keeps to himself, for reasons I can’t figure out. A number of the students have tried, but he doesn’t seem interested. When you contacted me before the school year started to explain his unique gender expression, I made sure to tell students on the first day that our class we will embrace everyone’s differences and there will be no bullying. So if it’s related to that, I haven’t seen it in my classroom. I do see notes from Mrs. Jones last year that he said he had a bully problem with an older student, but he’s said nothing to me about it.”

“Yeah, I know about that issue. I talked to the principal about it at the end of the year when he said he’d been pushed. I don’t know how well it was looked into. Honestly, I get the impression they think Stephen’s being a tattletale, and he’s kept quiet about it this year. So,” Derek inhaled, “what do we do?”

“I think our first step, is to rule out any underlying learning disabilities. Then we try a different style of homework. Maybe things are moving too fast; maybe he’s bored, not being challenged enough. All these things can lead to falling behind in school. However, since his reading comprehension and speed are quite advanced, I would like to start having him read more difficult books each week, perhaps a chapter book even if that goes well.. Maybe it will get him interested enough that things start clicking.”

Derek shifted on the chair. Okay, that was definitely a creak. _I do not want to be the parent that breaks this chair._ “That sounds like a good start.”

Ms. Coleman nodded. “Also, I think sending a note home each night might help you notice anything that might be bothering him at home too. I do want to stress, that I have not noticed any behavioral issues. He is not disruptive or defiant. I don’t have to send him to the office or anything. Stephen is a polite kid, very well behaved in class.”

Derek thanked her and walked out to the car. He felt sick to his stomach.

 

*   *   *   *   *

 

When he walked in the door, he found Stiles sitting on the couch by himself. “Stevie go to bed already?” Derek checked his watch. It was just after eight.

“Yeah.”

He kissed Stiles on the top of the head. “How was he? Did he behave for you?” Derek could tell by the expression on Stiles’ face that the evening did not go well. He sighed and walked into the kitchen where the dining room sat littered with art projects.

“Um…” Stiles fiddled with the hem of his shirt. “A couple of things I need to bring up. So um…”

Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles waist, hugging him from behind. “Just say it.”

“So I think something’s really bothering, Stevie.”

“Me too. He’s failing all his subjects in school. Refuses to make friends, won’t talk to me about it at all. What do you have?”

Stiles wriggled out of Derek’s hold to grab a couple pictures from the table. “So this one,” he showed him a picture of a fire in which the firewood was entirely made of markers with five large dark blobs looming over it, “I asked him what it was supposed to be, and he said it was things he’s afraid of. Fire, I get, given what happened to your family. Then he said the dark figures were monsters, but he wouldn’t explain further. Lots of kids are afraid of monsters. But Sharpies? So I asked him about them, and he got really quiet, refused to answer me. Derek, he didn’t talk for twenty minutes. He’s never done that around me. We laugh. We joke, play tag, do crafts, and it makes him happy. Makes me happy too. This just hurt to watch.”

Derek kissed Stiles’ forehead. “A few weeks ago, he asked me to teach him how to do his laundry. He didn’t like that I used a marker to make lines showing how much soap to use. I’ll talk to him about it.”

Stiles swallowed hard. “This really upset me though.” He showed Derek another drawing. This time, it looked like a person, a girl maybe, with harsh dark lines crossing the figure out.

“What am I looking at here?”

Stiles stared at him wide eyed. “A self-portrait. Derek, look, I know he’s not my kid, but this kind of thing is my area of study. I’m worried about him. Drawing your fears and a self-portrait are common art therapy techniques. He’s crossed himself out.”

Derek’s stomach was filled with lead. Given everything he’d just talked about with his teacher, and this...Stephen didn’t have a learning disability. School wasn’t too hard or too easy. Whatever it was causing him to fall behind, the mood changes, was personal. He closed his eyes tightly. “I know. We’re all worried about him. You, me, his teacher. You said you had something else you wanted to talk about?”

Stiles grabbed a glass of water. “So, did you talk to Stevie about me possibly moving in?”

Derek mentally face-palmed, and he clammed up.

“Were you planning on talking to _me_ about that?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes. I just wanted to see how he’d feel about something like that before I ever brought it up with you. If he’d reacted badly, I wasn’t even going to bother, but he was excited. And in all this mess with his grades and him acting out at home, it slipped my mind. I want to ask you, but...I don’t think it’s a good time now. I don’t think he needs a major change like that until I can figure out what’s bothering him.” He dropped his head. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to fight about this. I intended to talk to you right away, but…”

Stiles took Derek’s face in his hands, turning his boyfriend’s face to meet him. “I get it. He’s always going to be your main priority. I just thought you were keeping it from me.” Derek shook his head. “You’re right. Now is not a good time. It would probably make things worse, honestly. But, when you think it is, we can revisit this talk, yeah?”

Derek gave him a small crooked smile.

“Come on. Let’s get ready for bed. We can curl up under the covers and watch Super Troopers or something.”

 

Derek wished he could say the movie made him feel any kind of better; it didn’t.

 

 


	4. I Just Want to Go Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As mentioned in the beginning notes to the fic, this chapter contains a TRIGGER WARNING due to depiction of bullying (Which includes some phobic language. Once again, if this is a trigger, you can skip the chapter and follow the fic just fine.

Stephen passed Amy on the way to eat lunch. She had just finished lunch and recess. “Hi Stevie. Don’t get the peas. They are gross. Smell like my dad’s shoes. Blech.” She pretended to gag.

“Thanks.” He sighed. He hated lunch and recess.

“It’ll be okay. I’ll see you on the bus.” She pat him on the shoulder and continued to class, her long dark curls bouncing as she walked.

He sat and ate his lunch, alone, like usual, and put his empty tray on the rack. Why couldn’t all the first graders have lunch together, and then the second grade? Why did the big kids have to have the same lunchtime he did? They never let the younger kids play kickball or basketball with them. It wasn’t fair.

Just like he did every day, he checked around him before heading out for recess. All the swings were full but one. He hated the last swing, the one closest to the soccer field. He shuddered to even think about it, but he really wanted to swing.

So he sat down and began pumping his legs, flying higher and higher. He did that for a long time it seemed. He didn’t know; it was probably like ten minutes or a hundred, maybe even a thousand. Or a million minutes. The wind felt nice on his skin. Suddenly, someone yanked him off the swing. _Oh no_.

From where he landed, flat on his back in the gravel, he found himself staring up at the face of Joey Franklin and all his friends. He began to panic. Could he run fast enough to make it to a teacher before-

No. He couldn’t.

Joey hauled him to his feet, twisted Stephen’s arm behind his back, and dragged him to the far end of the soccer field where no teacher would see them. Just like he usually did.

Stephen struggled to get free, but it was no use. They were all big, and he wasn’t. Joey shoved him against the fence. Stephen hated his stupid face; he looked like the Joker, smiling like that, smiling like he enjoyed making him cry.

“Please don’t draw on me again.” Stephen whimpered.

“Please don’t….wah, wah. You’re such a girl, you freak.”

“I am not a girl!" Stephen yelled through his tears.

“Look at the big sissy fairy. He’s crying. I don’t think our little lesson has sunk in yet! Only girls wear dresses. Grab the markers.”

“I am not a girl.” This time Stephen’s response had no fire behind it, no conviction. He did not want those words on him again, not again. With every new time, the ink burned him like a fire, but there was no fire. Not really..

“Sure you are! You probably don’t even have a wiener! You’re a girl and a freak!” One of the other kids tugged his arm so hard, Stephen’s shoulder hurt.

“I do too! Leave me alone!”

Joey spit at him. “Prove it!”

“No!” Stephen found his voice this time. He knew he didn’t need to show Joey anything. No one could make him show them his private parts. His dad had said so. That it was wrong for anyone to try and touch him there or ask to see them, and if they did, he was supposed to tell a grown up he trusted.

“No?”

“I said no!” Stephen’s eyes darted trying to find space to run away.

Joey nodded to his friends. “Get his skirt!”

Before he could stop them, they yanked down his skirt and the leggings he wore underneath it. Stephen tried to cover himself, and that only made them laugh harder.

“Look at the crying tranny queer!”

He didn’t have time to react when someone threw a rock at him, hitting him in the cheek. “Stop it, please.” Stephen didn’t understand why they hated him so much. Before they started picking on him, he’d never spoken to them. He was so much smaller than them. Couldn't they find someone else, someone bigger, someone who could fight back? He got his arms up to cover his face only for them to throw more at his groin. “Help! Someone help, please!”

This only made the bullies angrier. One of them pushed him to the ground where he fell on his arm hard. He’d hit his head on the way down too. _Owie_. _Daddy, come get me. I want to go home!_ Nothing had ever hurt so badly in his life. When he tried to grab his injured arm, that familiar smell of marker, the kind he couldn’t wash off filled his nose. This time, they wrote not only on his chest, but legs, and even his face too. He kept screaming for help, but he knew he was too far away for anyone to hear.

When the bell finally rang, the boys ran off. Stephen knew he’d get in trouble for being late, but he felt dizzy and his tummy hurt. So did his head. He dragged himself over to the trees where he curled up in a little ball, afraid they would come back.

He just wanted to disappear.

 

 


	5. This Explains So Much

Derek sat at his desk across from the other project manager and one of his buddies, Isaac. “So what do you think about a food drive around Thanksgiving? That would generate good press for the bank, plus it would help feed the hungry.”

Isaac nodded, his blonde curls flopping around on his head. “I like that idea. We could go one step further, see if the execs would sponsor and fund a Thanksgiving meal for the homeless.”

They brainstormed back and forth for several minutes. “That would actually work really well, and I’m sure they’d fund it, because the potential reward would be higher than any investment for it. Look, people hate banks especially big ones, but they like smaller ones when they feel like the bank is invested in the community. Let’s get the team together to work up a proposal.” He drummed his fingers on his desk. “And you know what? Teddy bears to go with any of the food boxes bound for homes with children.”

“How would that help generate business?”

“I don’t know. I just like idea of helping some kids feel better.”

Isaac glanced at the framed photos on his desk. “You are a big softie, you know that?”

“When it comes to kids? Yeah I know.”

“So what do you say to a late lunch?” Isaac asked from the doorway on his way out of Derek’s office.

“God yes. I’m starving. Just let me save what we have here.” He took his desk phone off meeting mode just in time for it to ring. “Public Relations Department, Beacon Hills Community Credit Union, Derek Hale speaking.” All the blood in his face fled in an instant. “He what?”

“There was an accident at school. We needed to call an ambulance. It’s nothing serious, but it looks like Stephen fell and broke his arm.” The school principal said. “They took him to Beacon Memorial. We’ve been trying to reach you for over an hour.”

“I’ve been in a meeting.” He ended the call. “Rain check, Isaac. Stephen broke his arm. I need to head out. Tell Deaton, I had a family emergency.” He grabbed his jacket and hurried out to his car.

 

*   *   *   *   *

 

The first thing Derek noticed when he got to the hospital was that Stiles was already there sitting in a packed ER waiting room. “Wha-”

“Scott and I were having lunch with Melissa. She caught me on the way out and told me to wait up here. Said you’d want the support.”

“Have you been sitting with him? I have you as an emergency contact. It’s good he had a familiar face. I shouldn’t have had my phone on silent. It’s just I had a meeting, and, and...and...”

Stiles cupped Derek’s chin. “I know you do. Deep breath. No, I can’t go in and see him. You didn’t mark me down for medical emergencies. Just school.” He walked him to the nurses’ station.

“Hi, my son was brought here from school.” Derek said in one rushed sentence.

The nurse didn’t look up from her screen. “Identification please.”

Derek handed over his license. “His name is Stephen Hale. He’s six.”

She handed back his ID. “He’s in room 218. To your left and down the hall.”

Stiles clutched tightly to Derek’s shaking hand as they walked towards Stephen’s room. “I’m sure he’s fine. I’ll wait outside until you get me.”

“Yeah.” However, one step into the room, Derek could see that Stephen was definitely not fine. He wasn’t alone though. A woman in professional attire sat with him. On his arm, was a pink cast. He had a black eye and stitches in his cheek. He could also see the faint remainder of marker stains all over his face. How the hell were they able to treat him without Derek’s authorization? Of course, a child services advocate.

“Daddy-” Stephen’s voice broke when he saw his father.

He ran over to his bed. “I’m so sorry, Buddy. I was in a meeting, and couldn’t use my phone.” He kissed Stephen’s forehead.

“I want to go home.” Stephen cried.

Derek signed a form reclaiming custody from the temporary one Child Services had been given just as the doctor walked in. “What happened to my son?”

The doctor went over Stephen’s injuries, and with each one, Derek felt his stomach roiling. And anger, he was seething. He thanked the doctor and sat down in the chair next to Stephen’s bed.

“Can we go home?”

Derek shook his head. “You have to stay overnight. You hit your head.” Upon closer look, he could read exactly what the words on Stephen’s forehead said: Queer. “Is this why you’ve been having trouble in school? Bullies again?”

Stephen started crying. “I told the recess teacher all the time. But...I… they said they have to see them doing it. I...I...I… never showed them this.” He pulled up his hospital gown revealing his chest. “They do this all the time.”

Derek blinked back tears, realizing why Stephen had been showering as soon as he got home from school so often. He was washing off the evidence.

“You’re crying, Daddy. Are you mad at me?” Stephen sobbed.

“No, Buddy. Of course I’m not. I’m sad. Someone hurt you, and I couldn’t stop them.” He smoothed down Stephen’s hair.

“Daddy, it’s scary in here. I want to go home.”

Derek sighed. “I’m sorry, you can’t, but I’ll stay with you okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

“Okay.” Stephen sobbed. “I need my bear. I can’t sleep without Wilson.”

“I’ll have Erica bring him over okay?”

“Or Stiles?”

Derek stood up. “He’s just outside. Hold on.” He opened the door and motioned Stiles into the room.

Stiles stood for a moment in shock. He’d only been expecting a broken arm not this. “Hi, Stevie.”

“Are you gonna come live with us now?”

“We’ll see. Do you want me to sign your cast?” Stiles grabbed a marker from the dry erase board without thinking. As soon as he took off the cap, Stephen started shaking.

“No! Don’t sign it. Put it back! No markers!” He screamed. “Please no markers!”

Stiles dropped the marker on the floor without bothering to replace the cap. “I’m sorry. I forgot. Maybe I’ll make you something at home and bring it tomorrow.”

Stephen buried his head in his father’s chest. “Take all the markers away.”

Stiles placed all the dry erase markers from the board and placed them in a plastic cup before walking them outside. When he returned he beckoned Derek out of the room. “I’m gonna borrow, Daddy for a minute okay? He’ll be just outside. If you need him, all right?” In the hall, Stiles put his hands on Derek’s shoulders. “Hey, take a deep breath. What happened?”

“He got beat up at school, has a concussion. When they pushed him he fell on his arm. Stiles, they’ve been writing slurs on him with markers several times a week since school started. He hid it from me. Today…” Derek scrubbed his face with his hands. “They pantsed him and threw rocks at him. I am going down to the school in the morning to give them a piece of my mind. He’s been trying to get someone to listen to him. Hell, I went and talked to Principal. Some good that did.”

Stiles nodded, as if he were processing then deliberating something. “Um...this is more than bullying. That might not be enough. You could press charges.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “From what he’s said to me, said to my dad, and to you...the school has done nothing. The things those boys have said to him and the fact they pantsed him is sexual harassment if not assault, and that violates Title IX and his Civil Rights. The school failed to provide a safe learning environment for Stephen. The school did not follow through on the bullying, which goes against Seth’s Law.”

Derek’s jaw clenched. He was on emotional overload, and hearing all this was the last thing he needed at the moment. “Can you not tell me how to care for my kid, please? I made an appointment to talk to the school while I drove here. How I proceed is not up to you.”

Stiles took a step back and stared at him a moment, jaw agape. He managed to rein in his anger before Derek noticed. “That wasn’t what I was suggesting. Derek… That was nothing about how you are raising Stevie. I thought maybe you weren’t aware of the option.”

“It’s not your job.”

“I know that. I care about him too, and I don't want to see him get hurt again. I was just trying to help.”

“Well don’t. I don’t need your help.”

Stiles inhaled sharply, shifted around him and walked into Stephen’s room. “Hey Buddy, I need to go home. Would you like me to pick up Wilson for you?”

He nodded.

Stiles gave him a light hug and left, without so much as a good-bye to Derek. He could feel his anger threatening to burst free and didn’t think a hospital was a good place for it.

_How? Just how, Derek? I …. fuck this._ He punched the steering wheel of the Jeep so hard the horn went off, startling people in the crosswalk. “Sorry. Sorry.”

 

Stiles rubbed his temples. He just wanted to help, and Derek threw it in his face. Maybe it was best they didn’t move in together.

 

 


	6. Just Too Much On the Plate At Once

Later the next day, Derek and Stephen returned home, both grateful to be out of the hospital. Derek wished he could say his son rested well while he was there, but that would be a lie. Stephen had screamed himself awake in the middle of the night.

He was so agitated from the nightmare, nurses had to sedate him. Derek still fumed that someone hurt his child when he sneaked away in the morning to meet with the school principal while Stephen slept. The meeting, as it turned out had been a complete waste of time. One good thing had come about because of it though.

Derek secured copies of Stephen’s complaints regarding his bullies, both from his teachers, and the concerns Derek brought up at the end of the last school year. After Stiles left to go get Wilson, Derek consulted Stephen’s doctors once more regarding his treatment. Since he’d been brought in and told the staff what happened, his injuries had been photographed and documented.

When Stephen told him that his bullies had been giving him notes too, Derek called Erica to look through his backpack for him. Jackpot. The content of some of the letters was downright threatening, not to mention vulgar. Derek’s heart ached that his little boy had been keeping so much of this inside, dealing with it alone. When had Derek stopped being someone Stephen could come to about anything?

The more he thought about it, the more he realized Stiles had been right. This had moved beyond simple bullying. Now that he had all his cards in order, he planned to stop by the Sheriff’s station in the morning to file a report, both against the school and one against the bullies. “Do you want something to eat, Stevie?”

“No. I’m tired.”

“Do you just want to go to bed, even though it’s only seven?”

“Yeah.”

Even though he was six, and weighed almost fifty pounds, Derek scooped him up as though he were light as a feather.

“I’m not a baby, Daddy. You don’t need to carry me.”

“I know that, but you’re still my baby though.” He said rubbing Stephen’s back. “I just don’t want you to fall, okay?”

Stephen nodded into Derek’s shoulder. “Okay."

He lay him down and tucked him in. “Do you want me to read you a story?”

“No. Maybe Stiles can read me a story? We’re reading Matilda.”

Derek furrowed his brow. Where was Stiles? He always ate dinner with them and stayed over on Wednesdays. His class ended at four; he should have been here. “He’s not here right now.”

“But, it’s Wednesday.”

“I know that, Buddy. Do you want me to read you something?”

“The Giving Tree?”

Derek found the book on the shelf and, curled up on the bed beside Stephen, began to read. He stayed with him until he fell asleep. When he thought about getting up, he decided against it and held tightly to him. It had been a while since Stephen had wanted to snuggle. He missed it, and wound up dozing off himself.

Awaking a couple hours later with a crick in his neck, Derek walked into his room to find pajamas. As he yawned, he realized he probably felt just about as worn out as Stephen did. _Screw dinner_. His brain was so scattered that he didn’t even pay attention when he opened the drawer containing his pajamas until he accidentally pulled the drawer off the track and onto the floor. “Damn it.” He groaned. As he went to put it back in its rightful place, he stared at the empty drawer right below it.

A lump rose in his throat. _No, he wouldn’t have_. In a minor panic, he rushed over to the closet to find the space he’d given Stiles had been cleaned out. His dread spread like wildfire. Toothbrush, gone, razor gone, the few movies he’d left over. His house was now completely Stiles...less, and it felt terribly empty

_Why would he do this? I don’t understand._ Derek sat down on the couch and cradled his head in his hands. _I thought ...oh fuck._ Derek felt like he’d been punched in the gut as he remembered their last conversation. _This is my fault_.

Deciding he needed a drink, he walked into the kitchen where he found a note pinned to the fridge with a triceratops magnet.

 

_Derek,_

_I thought about it, and I don’t think we should move in together, not yet, and maybe not all. Clearly, I’ve been spending too much time over there if you’re feeling threatened by the bond I’ve formed with Stephen. I mean, he is **your** son after all, not mine. What would I know about caring for another human being and trying to give you information that would help keep someone I love safe? He’s not my kid, why should I care?_

_I’m obviously an idiot, because I mistook the nature of our relationship. When you told me I should tell Stephen how much I care about him, I thought we were building a family, but I guess I’m just some guy you’ve been fucking._

_I get that you were upset, and maybe I shouldn't have said anything then, but you hurt me, Derek. Really hurt me. So much so, that I don’t even know if I want to say this at all, but call me when you grow up. Otherwise, don’t call me at all._

Derek felt tears well up in his eyes. First Stephen now Stiles...he could not handle both problems right now, and Steph- Fuck he’d be devastated. He grabbed his phone and called Stiles. It went to voice-mail, and he started with his profuse apology.

That wasn’t good enough though, so he kept calling. “Come on, Stiles. Pick up, please.” After fifteen attempts, he gave up and called Erica.

“Derek, why are you calling me at almost ten on a Wednesday? Is Stevie okay?”

“Yes. He’s sleeping. I screwed up and I need to cash in that emergency favor you owe me.”

“Derek...I’m in my pajamas already.”

“Please Erica. I have to fix this. With all the stress of the last two days, I can’t...not this too. Please.”

“Dude, are you crying?”

“I might be.. Will you help me?” He ran a hand through his hair. “I just need you to watch Stephen. Please.”

Derek heard her groan over the line. “Fine, but only because I love you. However, Boyd is not pleased. You woke him up.”

“Tell him I’m sorry, and I will treat you guys to dinner.”

 

*   *   *   *   *

 

With shaking hands, Derek knocked on Stiles’ apartment door. From inside, he heard him grumble. “Do you have any idea how late it is, Diehler? Call the office if you’ve locked yourself out again! I'm not your personal locksmith.”

Derek knocked again. “Please just open the door.”

A moment or two later, Stiles opened the door. “Derek.”

That was it, not even a question. “Can I come in? Please.”

Stiles shrugged and stepped out of the way.

“Before you say anything, please just-”

“No. You don’t get to explain this away. Derek, I told you all that because letting the school handle it only gets the kid suspended, and then he’s back to bother Stevie. What if next time is worse? What if it isn’t just a broken arm and some therapy? Because Derek, he is probably going to need it. That’s all I was trying to do, was save you the trouble of the research, and the pain of seeing him like that again. I would _never_ tell you how to raise him.” Stiles swallowed hard and shook his head. “This is what my dad warned me about.” He scoffed. “You sure you want to get involved with someone who has a kid, Stiles?” He flopped down on the couch. “Derek, maybe I should have phrased it better, but I just wanted to help you. Two people I have come to think of as my family were hurting, and I was doing the only thing I knew how to do in the situation.” He scratched his chin.

“Stiles, I-”

“I’m not done yet! Okay? You took my feelings and walked all over them, and if we are gonna work, we can’t do that shit to each other. It has to be equal footing. I can’t be with someone who invalidates me.”

“I wasn’t trying to do that.” Derek knelt on the floor in front of Stiles and took his hands. “I wasn’t even thinking. My mind was somewhere else, and I shouldn’t have said anything. I guess a part of me thought it was going to be another one of those ‘You’re raising him wrong’ kind of things that I’ve heard so many times, and I don’t even know why my head would go there, because you are the sweetest and most open-minded person I know, and don’t do this. Please don’t. I love you, need you, and Stephen would be devastated. He’d miss you like crazy. I will worship at the altar of Stiles Stilinski if that’s what it takes to fix this. I don’t want to lose you over me and my stupidity. Just, come home with me tonight. Please.”

Stiles licked his lips. “No.”

Derek’s heart stopped in his chest, and he fought to keep from breaking down, but it was hard. So fucking hard. “Okay. Um...that’s...I’m sorry I hurt you. It’s not what I wanted, I swear. Just...don’t just cut Stevie out of your life. If you could still...that would be great.”

Stiles turned Derek’s face up to meet his. “You idiot. I’m not breaking up with you.”

“You’re not?”

“No, but I do think you and I both need to spend a couple days away from each other. You need to focus on Stevie, and I need...well I’m still mad at you, and need to get over that before I bring the tension around him. But, I will be over Saturday morning to make him pancakes.” He could visibly see the tension bleeding out of Derek’s body. “Just don’t ever do that to me again. I won’t forgive you next time.”

 

 


	7. It's Amazing What a Little Paint Can Do

Derek rolled over in bed, the bright morning light stirring him from his slumber. He stretched beneath the blankets. _Cozy. Could be cozier. Mmm._ Instinctively, he reached across the other half of the bed only to find it cold.  Oh yeah. He'd grown so used to sleeping next to Stiles more often than not.

He glanced over at the clock. Seven-thirty. Too early. Especially, when he'd been woken up three times the night before.  The nightmares had been so vivid Stephen awoke shaking and in tears. Derek finally got him back to sleep in his own bed around four.

From downstairs, he heard clatter and smiled. Pancakes. He shuffled downstairs, rubbing his eyes and dragging a hand through his hair. “Hey, Stranger.”

Stiles nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of Derek’s voice. “Jesus, Derek. Trying to give me a heart attack?”

He remained, cautious, just inside the kitchen, stopping by the coffee pot to fill a mug. What should he say? For two days, his mind had constantly gone over Erica’s words as he returned home Wednesday night. _‘You are one lucky fucker. You know that? You found someone who not only loves and wants to be with your grumpy ass, but who also adores your kid, and you almost ruined it. Lucky, lucky.’_

Yeah he was.

“You don’t have to stand so far away. I’m not going to hit you in the nose with a rolled up newspaper like you're a naughty puppy.”

Still, Derek was hesitant, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Oh get over here, you beautiful bastard.” Stiles said, turning to face him after flipping a pancake. Derek wrapped his arms around him, squeezing so hard Stiles thought he would break. “Missed  you too.” He said trying to overpower Derek’s constant stream of apologies into his shoulder.

“Are we okay?”

“Yeah, we'll be okay. I shouldn’t have brought it up then, anyway. I realize that now. But...you...nevermind. It doesn’t matter so long as you and I both learn from it. Eh?” Stiles rubbed the back of Derek’s neck, and chuckled. “Hey, that was our first big fight.”

“Because I was a big dummy.”

“Gets tricky when kids are involved right?”

Derek nodded. Yes it certainly did. “Just so you know, it doesn’t threaten me that you care that much about him. It actually makes me happy, really happy that you get we’re a packaged deal and accept it.”

 

*   *   *   *   *

 

All things considered, it turned out to be a good day. Stiles read the rest of Matilda aloud, which was quite the feat as he and Stephen had only been on chapter three. However, the highlight of the day, at least in Derek’s mind was watching the way Stephen’s face lit up when Stiles opened up a box of paints he’d brought over.

“So, we don’t want to ruin this fine piece of pink plaster with something as pedestrian as markers. By the way, that means boring, Stevie. I thought maybe you’d let me paint your cast. Do you think you’d like that?

Stephen nodded, actually smiling for the first time in days, eyes watching enraptured and completely captivated as Stiles decorated his cast with a full scene of Hello Kitty.

“There. Now to let the paint dry on my masterpiece. See, I even painted my name. Do you want Daddy to paint his too?”

Derek’s attempt at a signature looked more like a smeared stain of black paint, but the sentiment was there all the same.

After dinner, and an awkward attempt at helping Stephen shower while keeping his cast dry, The three trudged upstairs. The pair of them sat on either side of Stephen as Derek read this time. Stiles’ voice was shot from his epic storytelling session earlier.

Derek kissed Stephen’s forehead, knowing his son would most likely wake up at some point in the night. “Night, night, Buddy. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

When Stiles tried to stand, Derek gave him a pointed glance, one which his boyfriend seemed to understand right away. “I think Stiles wanted to talk to you. S’that okay?” Derek yawned.

“Yeah. Night Daddy.” Stephen waited for his father to leave the room, unaware the man stood in the hallway out of sight but within earshot, before talking. “Why didn’t you come over Wednesday? I missed story-time.”

Stiles pushed the hair off Stephen’s forehead. “I know. I’m sorry. You know how sometimes grown-ups disagree about stuff?”

“Like laundry?”

Stiles chuckled. “Like laundry. Well your Daddy and I disagreed about something.”

“Were you mad at me?”

He patted Stephen's leg. “Oh no. Of course not. Grown-ups can be really stupid sometimes, and we say things we might not mean because we’re scared or confused. Just like kids do.”

“Grown-ups don’t get scared, Stiles.”

He feigned a look of shock. “Of course they do. I’m afraid of rats.”

“Does Daddy get scared?”

“Sure.” Stiles adjusted his position on the bed.

“Of what?”

Stiles swallowed hard. “Something bad happening to you.”

Stephen’s eyes widened in surprise. “That’s why he was crying? Because I got hurt?”

“Yeah.”

He patted Stiles’ hand. “It’s okay to be scared. I said so.”

Stiles chuckled. “Thanks, Stevie.”

“Are you and Daddy still arguing?”

He shook his head. “No.”

Yawning, Stephen scooted down the bed to lie down. “Good. I’d be sad if you went away forever.”

“Me too, Buddy, me too.”

“Really?”

“Really, really. I love your daddy, a lot, and I love you. It would make me very sad to go away. My heart would hurt, and I’d cry for a long time.” His lip quivered, and he looked over at Stephen to see tears welling up in the boy’s eyes. “Are you okay?”

“You love me? Like Daddy does?”

He smiled. “Well, I don’t think anyone could love you as much as he does. But yes, I do.” The enthusiasm with which Stephen hugged him in that moment almost knocked him off the bed. As it was, he definitely got clunked on the back of the head with the plaster cast. Wow, there truly was something to be said about the comforting power of hugs, especially those from children.

“I love you too, Stiles.” Stephen whispered. “I hope you stay forever.”

 

If he was being truly honest with himself, Stiles hoped that too.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



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